The Challenge
by af-zero
Summary: A KanColle Side Story - The Challenger suffered, but perhaps a second chance can turn the tide.
1. Introduction - The Challenge

**The Challenge**

(A KanColle Side Story)

Introduction – The Challenge

He sighed after the door finally closed. Putting up a positive front to his team was _complete_ bullshit.

The slight buzzing of the halogen lights only made his headache worse, but it was nothing compared to the light that had been flickering throughout the entire meeting. As if punctuating their situation.

The money was all gone. Congress simply stopped caring. Everything was going into funding those ship-girls now. Them, and every defense contractor that thought they had a way to turn the now (nearly) useless naval sailors into cut-rate version of the aforementioned ship-girls.

As far as he knew, nobody had yet made a 'ship-girl system' that didn't either immediately sink, explode, or do next to no damage against Abyssal-styled mock-up targets.

*No room in the budget for _actual_ scientific work when you could spend money on a bunch of your buddies' crap – right Congress?*

Another sigh escaped his lips at that thought.

"Well, it was good while it lasted." He picked up the folder on the meeting-room table as he stood. "Now it's just moth-balling everything."

Today's meeting had been about doing just that.

*Well, that, and scheduling the farewell party,* He looked at his watch as he moved to the door – an electronic model made more for function than style. *Which I need to get to in about thirty minutes.*

At least there was money enough for that. If Congress was going to shut the project down, he was damn well going to use the last of the funds he had to get his team properly sloshed.

He walked over to the door and out into the hallway. The same halogen lights that seemed to be ubiquitous in all late-70s, early-80s construction cast their vaguely unpleasant glow into the hallway. The linoleum flooring was still pealing, but that wouldn't be _his_ problem for much longer.

His office was just down the hall. Right next door to the clean room. A slight smile worked its way on to his lips. *Fond memories there.*

Countless hours with his team were spent in that room. Cleaning, installing, modifying, and *Only sometimes,* MacGyver-ing improperly made parts into the design.

Opening the door to his office, everything was still in the slight disarray that it always was. *Soon to be filed and dumped into storage* He thought, eyeing the paperwork. *This can all wait until Monday,* He shook his head. It was always better to let people go on a Friday, right?

He putzed around the office for a bit. Mostly shuffling things into different piles, to allow for an easier time of things when he had to actually pack everything up. He checked his watch again.

*About time, then,* They planned to meet at their normal bar, 'The Proper', that was close enough to work to be convenient to everyone on these occasions, and, you-know, had pretty good food. *Hipsters, am I right?* The self-deprecating eye-roll came naturally at this point. Had to laugh at yourself sometimes to keep in good humor. Another wry smile made its way to his face.

As he exited the room and locked the door to his office, the smile quickly left his face.

The door to the clean room was ajar.

"Dammit." He muttered as he swiftly walked towards the partially open door. *It had better not be someone on _his_ team that did this, job loss or not.* They knew better.

Passing the distance quickly, he made his way into the air-lock. Making sure to close the door behind him.

In front of the window, which gave a passable *but minimal* view of the actual clean room was a woman he had never seen before.

"Hello? Who are you?" He used a more commanding tone than he normally might, "And what were you thinking leaving the door open like that?!" That, more than anything, was a sticking point. Everyone who worked in this building knew better than to leave the door open like that. Only one malfunction in the clean-room could significantly damage the equipment with the door open like that. *At least it wasn't _my_ team that did that.*

"Sorry about that," Her voice was slightly strained, like she was reliving a painful memory. He politely ignored the tone.

"What team are you on? You should have been told not to leave clean-room doors open like that." She couldn't have been new, the agency froze hiring last year once the Abyssal threat emerged.

She cocked her head to the left, still looking through the window. He took a moment to observe her. Short-cropped black hair in a pixie style, thin glasses perched on a beautiful face, lithe, wearing a standard lab coat over what looked to be a blue jumpsuit.

The silence dragged on. "Well? What are you even doing here? The project has been mothballed anyway." He was starting to become slightly apprehensive, *Was she even on staff?* He couldn't recall ever seeing her before, even in passing.

"I…" She paused, "I _think_ I'm here because of the project…"

*Oh God, a crazy wandered in and now I have to call the police.* He had never had to actually worry about this in his time as project manager, but had heard stories from others on occasion – usually at conventions and over a beer. He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket.

"I remember…" She trailed off, slowly placing her hand on the window, she seemed to have an intense look on her face as she examined the project in the cleanroom. He took the opportunity to open his smartphone and pull up the 'phone' function.

He was just about to dial in the emergency number when she spun around, focusing her now-intense gaze on him.

"You asked who I am." She stated. All hints in her voice at relieving painful memories was gone. All that was left was a dispassionate, yet intense, voice. She now seemed laser-focused on the conversation.

Yet his attention was no longer focused on _her_ , but rather what was happening _behind_ her. As if by *f-ing magic* something formed behind her – an orange cylinder framed by two white cylinders.

"I am Oh-Vee-Zero-Nine-Nine." She paused, as if thinking of something, then stuck out her right hand, "You can call me _Challenger_."

He didn't respond, there was no way this was real.

As if sensing his inability to understand what was going on she lowered her outstretched hand and used her left thumb to point behind her. "I _think_ I'm here to help with the new spacelab project."


	2. Chapter One - The Inquiry

**The Challenge**

[A KanColle Side Story]

 _Chapter One – The Inquiry_

Jill Stratholme stepped back from the table once the last placard was set in order to get a better view. The Secretary of the Navy's placard was off-set to the right, and Challenger's placard was askew.

When she first started as a Congressional aide she thought that this type of mindless work was beneath her. After all, she was one of only a handful of people chosen to work for the Senate Armed Services Committee.

Now, this type of mindless prep-work was one of the few parts of her day that wasn't spent gathering information for the war effort, helping the committee members find money for their pet projects, or fending off reporters and lobbyists. It was therefore relaxing.

Jill once again stepped back and looked over the tables set up in front of where the committee would be seated. *Good enough.* She nodded to herself.

She moved on to her next task, and lifted a single set of papers up from the several dozen packets of paper. The runner had left them in the usual spot. She leafed through the packet, checking to make sure it had the agenda, supporting paperwork, and the summaries for the relevant parts. It did.

Jill glanced to the right of the stack of papers where thirty sealed enveloped sat, CLASSIFIED marked clearly across the front in an angry red.

As she had done dozens of times by this point, she gathered up one copy of the public report and one copy of the classified report for each member of the committee, and began placing one of each on the desk of the committee members. Even in heels and a dress that made walking in the somewhat enclosed areas behind the desks more trying that normal, she finished up with the task after only a few minutes.

Glancing up at the clock hanging above the currently-shut doors, she noted that it was getting close to time to let the press in.

"Hey Jill." A male voice called from one of the side doors leading to the restricted areas. Glancing over, she saw Jack Reed walking through. He was one of the Senators from Rhode Island who was on the committee.

"Good Morning Senator, I was just getting ready to open the doors. Did you need anything before I let everyone in?" It was still a few minutes early to open the doors, but better to let the press settle in rather than allow them to mill about in the halls like the scavengers they were.

He walked over to his desk, plopped down in his seat and shuffled through the public briefing papers without saying a word. Jill waited.

"Nope, everything seems to be in order." He glanced up with a sardonic smile on his face, "and I think I saw the rest of the committee in the back, so we might even start on time for once."

A light smile crossed Jill's face and she brushed back a stray brown hair behind her ear. "That would make it two miracles in a row then, right?"

Senator Reed nodded, "First _Challenger_ and now starting on time. If this keeps up the Abyssals will be defeated by lunch."

*If _only_.* Thought Jill.

"Thank you for that account Mr. Williams," Said Senator Fischer, the chair of the Armed Services Committee, "Is there anything you care to add to that account, Challenger?"

The noise generated by camera shutters suddenly increased as Challenger leaned forward over the solid wood table toward the microphone. Challenger looked directly at the senator, peering at her through the same glasses that Project Director Mark Williams had seen for the first time only three days ago.

"I have nothing further to add to the account." Even-toned, concise, and direct. That was the Challenger that Mark Williams had come to know over the past few days.

"Are you certain that there is nothing else?" Senator Fischer pressed, an inquisitive look on her face. "We know so little about where Abyssals and fleetgirls come from. But the fact of the matter is - so far they have all been naval vessels, and they have all been military vessels. What makes you different?"

Before Challenger could form an answer to the posed question, another member interrupted. "I believe we may be getting off-track." Senator Inhofe, of Oklahoma, interjected in his normal drawl. "What we need to determine is now that she's here, how do we use her in the war effort?" The Senator looked towards the Secretary of the Navy, "Any thoughts on that Mister Secretary?"

Everyone in the room that was familiar with Secretary Mabus could see that the normally lively man was being worn down by the pressures of the Abyssal War. The clear exhaustion on his face, however, did nothing to dull his intellect. "Probably not much, Senator. She has no guns to fight the Abyssals directly, she has no armor worth talking about for any sort of protracted military exchange. As for flight, if we want to transport anything – well, the air force is the better organization to handle it."

The Secretary glanced over to his companions, "Still, we have Admiral Walker here as our expert on shipgirls together with the U.S.S. Enterprise. Your thoughts?"

Enterprise merely shook her head 'no,' letting them know that she was letting the brass take the lead on this.

Admiral Walker leaned forward into the microphone, "I agree with the Secretary's analysis on this. Challenger is a civilian ship through and through, she doesn't have any place fighting the Abyssals."

There was a slight pause, "That's all well and good, Admiral, Mister Secretary," this time it was Senator Gillibrand that spoke up, "But as it stands the Navy is the only organization capable of handling the needs of the fleetgirls. And who knows what additional issues could crop up due to Challenger's unique circumstances. As a matter of practicality, would you be able to find a place for her?"

The Admiral took a moment to think about his response. "As always, the Navy will achieve any mission given to us. If Congress and the President determine that Challenger's place is with us, we will, of course, do everything in our power to find the best role for her in this fight."

Senator Inhofe looked like he was preparing to ask another question when another voice cut through the silence.

"Absolutely not."

Mark Williams' head snapped to his left. Challenger was practically _glaring_ at Senator Gillibrand.

"I was built to advance mankind's knowledge of space. Every day of my existence was defined by this task. NASA, _my_ agency, my _family_ , would have never turned me over to the military to be used for war." The volume of Challenger's voice steadily increased. Catching herself, Challenger briefly closed her eyes and took a calming breath.

"As you are all aware, NASA never was a branch of the military, but was expressly founded as a civilian agency to prevent the militarization of space." Challenger looked over at the Enterprise. It was hard to read her expression, but Mark imagined that it was one of wary respect. "I will never forsake that promise, just as I know the Navy will never forsake its own oaths."

The chairwoman interceded at this point, "I think we can all appreciate that sentiment, Challenger, but the question remains where to place you." Senator Fischer glanced around at her colleagues to get a sense of where they stood on the issue, most seemed to be curious about what Challenger had to say, some had leaned back in their chairs with their arms crossed, Senator Gillibrand was maintaining her composure, and Senator Inhofe had a sour look on his face.

"I don't suppose you have any thoughts on your placement if you are so vehemently against spending time with the Navy and with your fellow fleetgirls." There was, perhaps, a hint of incredulity in her voice when she asked this question. So far, none of the shipgirls that had materialized in the U.S., the UK, Japan, Germany, or elsewhere had _any_ desire to be anywhere except their respective navies, fighting the Abyssal fleets.

The cameras focused in on Challenger as she once more leaned forward. Though nobody in the room knew it at the time, it was a relatively slow Newsday for the cable networks, and once the reporters in the room texted their publishers about the surprising statements made by Challenger, the public was, just now, tuning in live.

"Well, it seems to me that the United States has given up on its space program, war or no war." Challenger paused as she licked her lips and gathered her thoughts, "And so, I believe I will do exactly what I was intended for – I will make trips into orbit and I will deliver payloads during those trips."

A sharp smile worked its way onto Challenger's face. "And I believe I will use the funding model that NASA originally planned on to do this work."

Challenger's eyes swept across the gathered Senators, her teeth were now showing, "Namely, I will sell my services to the highest bidder, and only take on the contracts that I choose. I do believe the economics of the situation will be a little different _now_ as compared to back when I needed a team of thousands to perform my maintenance."

Silence had descended on the room. The look that Enterprise was giving Challenger could best be described as incredulous.

"Any questions?"

The officer signaled to the chairwoman that the final guest had left. Everyone had already missed lunch, and the next part of the meeting promised to drag them well into the evening. Still, now they could order food and eat it without all the cameras on them.

"Alright, the classified portion of this hearing is now in session." The witness table now just held one man, the Secretary of the Navy. "I assume the full threat assessment is in the briefing, but why don't you give us the bottom line."

"Yes ma'am. With the caveat that we are clearly dealing with a different personality from the Naval shipgirls, our threat assessment is that Challenger poses a low-grade threat, and the best course of action is to have her running to and from orbit as often as we can get her to do so. Based on our own experiences with shipgirls, they tend to be at their most stable and predictable when they're doing the type of work they did back when they were their ship-selves."

Senator Inhofe asked the obvious question, "And if for whatever reason she decides to pose a physical threat?"

Secretary Mabus sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "That… is difficult to say." He paused, thinking for a few moments. "Well, you are all aware of our observations about how the different shipgirls have differing physical strength based on their prior ship designs, correct?"

The chairwoman answered, "Of course, it's correlated to their horsepower, right?"

"Their horsepower is a good approximation. There seems to be more to it than _just_ horsepower, but they _are_ strongly correlated. Obviously, with the shipgirls being so new and our need to field them as often as possible to combat the Abyssals, a more formal testing program has yet to be designed or implemented. For the moment, we're basing this correlation on our observations."

There was some time for the information to sink in, and the Secretary took a sip from the glass of water on the desk.

"There appears to be some limits based on how the ship was constructed, what the strength of the materials were, and how the power was deployed. But we have seen some of our own shipgirls muster physical feats that get pretty close to what they could have done as a ship, but made all the more powerful by being concentrated in the form of a human. Punches or a kicks packing much more of a wallop than they should."

"And what does this mean for Challenger?" Senator Gillibrand asked.

"Well, we go more into the specifics in the briefing package, but the amount of horsepower that a space shuttle uses to get into orbit far and away exceeds anything our Naval vessels use. For example, an Iowa-class battleship could exert a bit more than 200,000 total shaft horsepower. Your average space shuttle used the equivalent of 37 million horsepower to enter orbit."

You could hear a pin drop.

"Are you…" Senator Gillibrand did some quick mental math, "Are you saying that Challenger is somewhere in the neighborhood of _200_ times stronger than an Iowa-class battleship?"

"Ma'am, what I am trying to say is that, based on what we know about how horsepower translates to physical strength, if Challenger wanted to, and she didn't care about her own survival, she could quite possibly _punch_ a city out of existence."

Bar none, this was the worst day in Mark Williams' 37 years of life. Worse than being ditched at prom, worse than being rejected from MIT (he still got in at Stanford, thank God), and somehow worse than the Tinder date that _shall not be thought about_.

Fortunately for him, whiskey existed.

"Let me buy you your next one," a smooth, feminine voice spoke as a body slid into the bar stool next to him. She was younger than him, long black hair, brown eyes, dressed casually in blue jeans, a grey blouse, and a black jacket.

The press pass dangling from around her neck told him everything he needed to know.

"Nope." He picked up his half-empty glass and took a sip. The liquor burned a bit as it slid down his throat, but the caramel flavor made him close his eyes in enjoyment. As this was already his third, he was pleasantly buzzed, just a couple more before he got drunk enough that _that_ would be what he had to focus on rather than his thoughts about the day.

"Come on," she gently nudged him in a playful manner, "I won't bite. I just want to do my part to apologize for what you went through today."

Eyes still closed, Mark took another sip. "I'm working very hard to repress, please don't remind me."

"Mmhmm." She raised her hand, catching the bartender's attention, "I'm getting his next one" her thumb jutted in his direction, "and I'll have an old-fashioned."

"Sure thing." The bartender was on his way as soon as she pressed her credit card into his hand.

They sat a few moments in silence, which was eventually broken by the bartender returning with the drinks.

He sighed. "There really isn't anything else you can get out of me. Everything I know, I said at the hearing." His words did nothing to stop him from finishing off his current drink and grabbing the new one in front of him.

"I figured." She was looking at her drink, as if examining it for quality, before raising it to her lips; taking a sip, she placed it back on the table. "Like I said, take it as an apology for my fellow media-types, we often don't know when to stop."

"Mmhmm." *Wait for it.*

The moment stretched out a bit as they each sipped their drinks.

"So, I take it Challenger isn't one for the bar scene?"

*Shocking, the reporter is digging.* His eyes looked heavenward.

"I'm sure I don't know." Mark said in his absolute driest voice while sending the reporter a small glare, "And weren't you just saying something about apologizing for your fellows?"

A smile lit up her face, "Actually, I believe I was just saying something about reporters not knowing when to stop."

Mark groaned and his face found itself cradled by his hands.

"Sorry, sorry," she said with a laugh, "But can you really blame me? The military has all the other girls locked down on some military base or other, or else out fighting on the seas. The idea of a _civilian_ girl is too tempting to pass up when we know next to nothing about the military girls."

Her eyes were practically sparkling – though with mirth or with inquisitiveness Mark could not tell.

"She made quite the splash today. I bet Congress is kicking itself for not taking the time to meet with you and Challenger ahead of time, they could have saved a lot of face by just having one of the Senators meet with her over at JPL." She was clearly enjoying this too much, or Mark was simply not drunk enough yet swept up into the moment.

"That's nice and all, but, you know, you never even told me your name."

"Ah, where are my manners?" She stuck out her hand, "Cecilia Thompson, with CNN's investigative division."

They shook.

Try as she might, Cecelia would not be able to get any information out of Mark that night about Challenger. Mark, however, learned a lot about the cheerful reporter who was eager to talk his ear off about the implications that Challenger represented. He didn't return to his hotel room that night, but instead stayed over with his new friend.

As soon as the door to the hotel room fully closed an Admiral's hat went flying across the room. It bounced off the eggshell-colored couch and rolled to a stop on the white carpet floor.

"What a f-king joke." Spat the Admiral.

"And you," he turned to his companion, "You didn't exactly speak up in there."

Enterprise crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow. Perhaps it was the Dress Blues, but Jonathan Walker was suddenly reminded that he was speaking to a 20,000 plus ton warship.

He lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine. Maybe I'm overreacting. But don't tell me you aren't just as pissed off at her mercenary attitude."

The _her_ , of course, was Challenger.

"Well, unlike you, I've met civilian ships before." She shrugged, "Granted, they're normally a bit more respectful to carriers, but they're all a bit mercenary. That, and I can kinda get where she's coming from."

"Where she's _coming from_? She practically spat on the Navy in there," He gestured in the general direction of the Capital, "and then her little mercenary song and dance just added insult to injury."

Enterprise's arms fell to her sides, and she looked down and to her right. "You weren't exactly welcoming yourself." She sent him a small glare, "It was _you_ who said the Navy would _condescend_ to find a place for her if we were _ordered_ to do so, wasn't it?"

He crossed his arms, his face heating up slightly, "Not in so many words, no."

"Right," Enterprise bit out, "Like I said, I can get where she's coming from. I would feel about the same if the Navy were trying to offload me to the Department of Agriculture or something. I'm honestly more pissed off at NASA than anyone. The NASA director didn't even bother to show up today."

He ran his hand through his hair, "F-k." He hadn't really paid attention to that *or its implications* until just now. *That certainly casts Challenger's little monologue into a new light.*

Tilting his head back, looking at the ceiling, he took a moment to reflect on the day. "Well, I need to write a report about today anyway, you fine on your own?"

Enterprise nodded. "I'm going to change out of these," she tugged on her Dress Blues, "and go for a walk. It's been a little while since I've been in D.C."

"Don't start any trouble – shore leave is one thing, but we're still technically on the clock here."

She gave a quick salute and retreated into her separate bedroom.

"What a mess."

On two different sides of the world, two men had watched the public portion of the Senate Armed Services Committee Meeting with rapt attention. Afterwards, they made calls to their D.C. lobbyists to work the Committee Members for more information.

Both liked what they had heard. Both wanted to make use of the only shipgirl that could reach orbit. Both were willing to pay top dollar to obtain her services. The PR value alone would be a marketing coup well worth almost any expense.

One of the men knew he had an uphill climb, but Richard Branson was no pushover.

One of the men knew he had an advantage, but Elon Musk recognized that competition would be fierce.

Both men began the hard work of putting together a recruitment package fit for a Space Shuttle.

At this time of night, the top of the Watergate Hotel gave a beautiful view of the District of Colombia. But Challenger's eyes were tracking the setting moon. Only a couple hours before moon-set and then a few more hours of night. Plenty time to enjoy some stargazing.

And, of course…

"Oh, I'm bein' followed by a moon-shadow; moon-shadow, moon-shadow. Leapin' and hoppin' on a moon-shadow; moon-shadow, moon-shadow." Her voice rang out clearly to her audience.

Gravel crunched underfoot as her audience emerged from behind an industrial HVAC unit.

"I suppose I was a bit obvious."

"Yep." Challenger _had_ noticed right away. Advanced electronics for the win.

"In my defense, aircraft carriers are not meant to be _stealthy_."

"Hmm. A likely excuse." Challenger finally glanced over at her audience. 'Big-E' was actually rather short. Dirty-blond hair hung loosely, brushing lightly against her shoulders. She was dressed down from her Blue Dress Uniform, which she wore in the hearing, and instead was garbed in a Summer White Service uniform. The tan coloring did not particularly flatter her. Or anyone.

"I can't imagine you came up here to listen to my singing." Challenger smirked, "Although one of my old techs loved playing songs while working on me, so I have a decent repertoire if that _is_ why you're here."

Enterprise, though, was all business. "You know that we would take care of you, right? I know you're not sold on the military side of things, but if nothing else I can _personally_ guarantee that you would have a home with us."

Challenger sighed and looked skyward. She could still identify all the major features on the Moon. _Oceanus Procellarum_ , the _Tycho_ crater, and, of course, the various _Mare_ ( _Frigoris, Imbrium, Cognitum, Humorum_ , and the rest).

Enterprise took a softer tone, "I get that it must still be disorienting. And I don't want to push. Just know that the option will always be open to you."

Challenger smiled sardonically, "If only you were the Air Force. I worked with them in the past. Good people there. Not smart enough to get into NASA, obviously, but good people nonetheless."

Enterprise snorted, "Really, the _chair force_? At least my pilots actually did an honest day's work back in the day."

"Hmm, I suppose they did at that." Challenger looked over at Enterprise again as she responded. Big-E was leaning against the HVAC unit now, arms crossed and a relaxed smile played on her face at the thought of her crew. "Things are just so different now, you know?"

Enterprise let the statement hang in the air without responding.

"It's just, I was being sent up on mission after mission. I was working hard so hard to make sure that everyone could see what great work we could do when we pulled together and worked towards a common goal – you can only reach space when you undertake such a massive effort that people who never would have met before work together, even people who never had a dream could find the biggest dream of all in the promise of space travel."

Challenger paused, pain evident on her face. "And now… It's like everyone forgot we even existed."

"How do you get used to something like that?" Challenger turned back to the sky, spent with the topic.

"I didn't have that same experience." Enterprise said in a low tone of voice. "But mine was also jarring. I was decommissioned in the late 40s, right after the war. But here I am now, decades later. You think _your_ world changed, back in my day I had segregated bathrooms on me, and the only women that ever came onboard me were as secretaries and wives."

"I guess." Challenger responded, not wanting to continue that line of conversation.

"Yeah." Enterprise let the conversation die there.

The quiet moment stretched out.

"I've seen that space shuttle mock-up they named after me."

"You went to see _my_ Enterprise?" Challenger couldn't fathom why. *And they didn't tell her it was named after the Enterprise in _Star Trek_? Bad form, Navy, bad form.*

"It was part of my 'acclimatization.' They wanted to show me all the things that were named _Enterprise_ for some reason." A sour look appeared on her face, "It was flattering, I guess, but a bit awkward. I mean, she never really…" Enterprise trailed off.

Challenger's voice reflected the downturn in the already somber atmosphere. "No, she never did find a voice."

"I…" Challenger kept her vision on one star in particular, as she continued. "I could have ended up the same. I was originally a 'Structural Test Article' too, like her, before they converted me over to a functioning Orbital Vehicle. They didn't want to spend the money to do it for her."

She struggled for a moment before the next words emerged. "It would have been nice to have had a big sister named Enterprise."

Neither one spoke. The silence dragged out for minutes.

"I probably shouldn't ask, but…" Challenger hesitated, looking down. When next she spoke her voice came out in a half whisper, "Could you sit with me tonight?"

Rather than answer, Enterprise walked over and sat next to Challenger on the course gravel of the rooftop. When the moon finally set, they enjoyed looking at the stars in a companionable silence.

A/N: These scenes came to me pretty quickly, we'll see about the next batch, eh? Also, I would sincerely appreciate any feedback you folks have on how I can improve any aspect of my writing. Particularly, thoughts on Enterprise's characterization?


End file.
